


Der Rabe

by johnsarmylady



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A man and his raven through the ages, Breaking down barriers, Friendship in a time of war, Gen, Healing regardless of nationality, World War 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:31:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3200753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnsarmylady/pseuds/johnsarmylady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>France 1916, and a group of German soldiers, cut off from their battalion, meet a strange doctor and his raven in a solitary wood. An AU for LDLFF</p>
            </blockquote>





	Der Rabe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LDLFF (FF Net)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=LDLFF+%28FF+Net%29).



Foncquevillers in France, 1916. 

The battle for the village had been long and bloody, and the British forces had had more than their fair share of luck on their side that day.

As night closed in on the red-tinged mud of the battlefield, four soldiers of the 170th (9th Baden) Infantry, separated from the rest of their battalion, carried their wounded Captain into Gommecourt Woods, travelling as fast as their assorted injuries would allow.

“Here, we should be safe enough here.” Gefreiter Kappel sighed, signalling his comrades to lower the makeshift tarpaulin stretcher.

Bauer, Kaufmann and Ritter gently lowered the injured man, looking then to their corporal for further instructions.

Kappel looked around, taking in their surroundings, trying to work out how to make the most of what they had. 

All four soldiers had their packs with them, so he instructed Bauer and Ritter to make a bed for the Captain with their blankets, while he and Kaufmann rigged the tarpaulin as a tent over him. 

“This will serve to hide our fire from the village.” He said, using his belt to secure the apex to an overhanging tree.

With the makeshift tent secure, they set about making a fire and cooking some of their meagre field rations.

xXx

“What was that?” Ritter jumped, looking up at the criss-cross of branches overhead, shadows made unnerving by the clouded moon.

“Where?” Leaning across to look over his comrade’s shoulder, Kaufmann followed his line of vision.

Suddenly, high above them there came a ‘lock, lock,’ sound, and the shadow of a large bird circled overhead.

Grabbing his rifle, Ritter took aim, but the Kappel’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“If you shoot you’ll draw attention to us.  It’s only a bird, it’ll settle soon.” He said, reaching forward to pour more coffee from the pan into his tin cup.

Standing on the other side of the fire, Bauer stood on sentry duty, softly humming a folk song. From behind him the others gradually joined in, singing quietly.  In the shadow of the tarpaulin tent their injured Captain groaned occasionally, muttering feverishly.

Again from overhead came the eerie ‘lock, lock,’ sound, and the as the bird’s shadow passed over them once more the injured man suddenly sat up, eyes wild and wide, scrabbling despite his wounds for his rifle.

“No Hauptmann Weissmuller, you mustn’t try to move sir, lay still, rest.” Kappel scooted over to reassure the officer.

The flurry of movement had brought the other three soldiers close to the shelter, and as the fuss died down and they turned back towards the fire they froze.

Standing on the other side of the flames was a short, blond haired man in British Army uniform.  He carried a pack on his back, and on his left shoulder sat large raven.

 

 

For a long moment no-one moved, then Bauer raised his rifle, aiming at the soldier’s head. On the smaller man’s shoulder the bird screamed, stretching his neck forwards as if to berate the German for his actions.

“Shh Sherlock,” with a smile the Englishman put up a hand to calm the angry bird. “We just startled them, they weren’t expecting visitors.”

“Visitors?”  Kappel stood and glared down at the other man. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

The raven flapped across to a low branch as the soldier raised both hands as a gesture of submission.

“My name is Captain John Watson, of the Royal Army Medical Corps.” He gestured towards the bird. “I’m a doctor. Sherlock saw you and led me here.”

“Sherlock?”

John nodded his head towards the raven, now preening his glossy blue black feathers, keeping one beady black eye on the group around the tent.

“That noise he makes, that ‘lock’ sound, when I first met him he used to screech ‘Sher’ before calling ‘lock’ – made me laugh, started calling him Sherlock and the name just stuck.” As he spoke he carefully lowered his pack to the floor.

“I’d like to take a look at your injured man.” John said softly, making eye contact with Kappel. “I might be able to help.”

Immediately suspicious the German soldiers closed ranks in front of their Captain, but the corporal had seen something in the shorter man’s navy blue eyes, something old, timeless.

“Why?  Why would you help us, we are your enemy.”

“I’m a doctor….er….”

“Gefreiter Kappel.”

“Thank you, now as I said Gefreiter Kappel, I’m a doctor, you have an injured man as well as walking wounded. Please, let me see if I can at least make your….your Captain?  Hmm, yes, make him comfortable.” John Watson smiled. “You are not my enemy – injury and disease is my enemy.”

“He’s unarmed” Ritter whispered.

“He is only one man, there are four of us. Maybe he can help Hauptmann Weissmuller.” Keeping his voice low and one eye on the British Officer Bauer argued in favour of medical assistance.

Taking a breath Kappel nodded, gesturing for the doctor to pick up his kit and move in to the shelter

“I have a side-arm.” Stopping as he drew level with the corporal and raising his hands John turned to the side, nodding towards the pistol in his belt. “You may wish to take it.”

“Thank you.”

Exchanging a look of understanding Kappel stepped aside and the doctor stepped inside.

With gentle hands John opened the German Captain’s uniform, and having inspected the wound stepped back outside and held his hand up. The raven swooped across from his perch on the branch.

“Sherlock, I need some antiseptic.  Can you find me some wild garlic?”

Tilting its head to one side, the bird snapped its beak a couple of times, called “lock” and launched himself off towards the deeper darker parts of the woods.

John busied himself setting a small pot of water over the campfire flame.

“Sherlock and I have been together a long time.” He talked quietly as he worked. “He has a way of seeking out people that need our help.”

“You have travelled together?” Kappel watched as the raven flew back to the camp with a large garlic bulb gripped in its fearsome claws, dropping it into the doctor’s outstretched hand before returning to its former perch.

“Always.” John worked quickly to peel and chop several cloves into the now boiling water, removing it from the heat and letting it cool. “I sometimes think that I’ve spent my life following him,” He shrugged. “Maybe I have.”

“I can’t really remember a time when we weren’t chasing through streets, or woodlands, searching – always searching, sometimes finding people like you, or children…..sometimes there is nothing I can do to help.”

Again the corporal saw years, decades of suffering in those eyes, watching as the doctor quickly sewed and dressed Weissmuller’s wounds.

“Your men, they have minor injuries. Will you let me treat them too?”

“Thank you.” It was barely a whisper, but John heard, and immediately moved towards Ritter, whose shoulder had a nasty knife wound.

Keeping up a steady stream of stories, the doctor kept his military audience enthralled with the adventures he and his friend Sherlock had had, the many countries they had travelled through and the people he had met.

The German soldiers shared their food with him, little as it was, and as midnight drew near John packed his medical supplies back into his pack. 

Standing and stretching, he looked up to the trees, making a soft clicking noise with his tongue, bracing himself as Sherlock glided down to settle back onto his shoulder.

“Will you trust me to watch over you – you need to rest.” The English doctor spoke quietly, looking down at the soldiers. “I promise you will be safe.”

With heavy eyes the small band of Germans huddled around the fire, getting comfort from the closeness of their comrades, their last conscious thought was that the soldier, the British Officer had apparently spoken to them in perfect German!

xXx

As the sun rose, pushing fingers of light through the trees of Gommecourt Woods, the chill of dawn woke the sleeping soldiers. In consternation that looked around, but there was no sign of the doctor, yet they were undoubtedly still safe and undetected by any passing enemy troops.

Checking on their captain, they were relieved to see his fever was almost gone, and his wound no longer bleeding.

“Did that really happen?” Kaufmann asked, a bemused frown creasing his brow.

“Well someone bandaged my shoulder.” Ritter said. “And the captain – someone looked after him…”

“It seems….” Kappel didn’t finish his sentence – Bauer, who had wandered off to relieve himself was now running towards him, waving excitedly.

“Gefreiter! Gefreiter Kappel!  The battalion! The battalion is retreating, passing by the south west edge of the woods!”

Barking a stream of orders, Kappel sent Bauer and Ritter to intercept them and get assistance for their captain, and within the hour they were leaving the woods, and being welcomed back into the ranks of their comrades.

As he attempted to give an account of how they survived the night, Kappel looked skyward for inspiration, and there, circling above the edge of the woods was a large black raven, and he smiled as suddenly it hovered and called.

‘Lock, lock.’

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Foncquevillers and Gommecourt Woods was indeed the site of a vicious battle in July 1916. 
> 
> The RAMC were involved in the first world war, as were the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers, but there is no record of whether or not either were at Foncquevillers.  
> I hope I’ve got my German Army Ranks correct – Hauptmann is a Captain, and Gefreiter is a Private, First Class which is the equivalent of a Corporal.  
> That said – the rest of this is fiction, not a history lesson J  
> Ravens make a noise like ‘tock, tock’, so I used a bit of poetic license…..
> 
>  
> 
> theridingcropsart kindly did some wonderful art for this story - you can see it in the story, or visit the link below :)
> 
> http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2015/019/b/c/ww1john_da_by_meatalheadbambi-d8ekbel.jpg


End file.
